Agape in Fugue Minor
by Danko Kaji
Summary: New Game Plus / FFX & FFX-2 / Following the final battle, Shuyin the Unsent breaks Baralai on the wheel, whom falls into a coma. Yuna dreamwalks to recollect the fragments of his broken mind only to unearth a bond long forgotten. Arc I: The Forbidden Memory.
1. Hope & Turmoil

**Author's Notes:** A single week of trials and tribulations and _yes it is finally finished!_ My ultimate gift to you, Sorrow! The epic Yunalai I've always _always _wanted to write, the inspiration behind my fragmentary series The Pilgrimage and its spin-off one-shots! I must warn you, this fic will encompass my stretch-of-the-imagination headcanon, many mind-rape worthy emotions and the reliving of traumatic experiences (of the Crimson Squad, Yuna's pilgrimage, etc).

This story will exploit the New Game Plus feature as a plot device! (Blame the _Persona Series_ for popularizing this trend) Also, I'm giving a shout out to **_heaven_monument_** and _**Sephiroth_Owa13**_ (and of course **_Sorrow has a Human Heart_**) for sticking with the idea since day one. :3

Extra note: the quotes in bold _and _italics indicate Unsent characters speaking, for example Shuyin, Lenne, and Auron.

* * *

**Agape in Fugue Minor–Prologue**

* * *

_**Memories of Waves and Light**_

_"I've been chasing my past for so long, sometimes getting it back is all I can think about. Other times, I just want to forget. Maybe we should both let go of our past, and focus more on what's to come."_

…

_'So many things seem intertwined, but nothing leads to you. Why be a sphere hunter when what I'm hunting for can never be found?'_

…

_"The world is changing … New Yevon wishes to help those who feel lost in the winds of change."_

…

…

_"He is dead, and I am still alive. Coming here really makes that clear."_

_"I'm sure he was a great guy, but… there'll be others."_

…

_"Searching the past to find the future…"_

"_I keep my memories inside."_

* * *

**Chapter 1–Hope and Turmoil**

* * *

******_Eternity ~ in One Moment_  
**

Shuyin's glowing silhouette pulls Baralai's body to move and Yuna dares to look into his eyes. Beyond the blue, beyond the brown, beyond the illusion lies a friend in need. Daunted by this most selfless intimate act, Yuna's gaze wavers. Hands clasp the phosphorescent sphere, which pulses with a heartbeat of its own, yearning to speak up and steal the spotlight. Colorful light recreates a songstress dress, fusing Lenne's will into her gentle words.

Anxiety weighs on her heart, squeezing at her vocal cords. "Shuyin."

Remnants of his strength dwindle under the mercy of irrational whims. Baralai approaches, hoping for his lady to perceive the speechless plea hanging on sealed lips. "Lenne..."

Delusion of his beloved blinds the retinas, enlightening the mind with memories murky from the millennium. Baralai knows better, he should know better, but he can't break free using logic and inner strength anymore.

"There's something I must tell you. Words left unspoken for a thousand years." Dip of the head, poignant pause, and then intense eye contact implores understanding. "I love you..." Her confession steals his breath away and watery guilt prickles his eyes. "...a-and I'm grateful... grateful that you stayed with me, until the end."

"But, I couldn't save you!" He recalls the untimely hour of their demise, the event of their inevitable confrontation. Escape plan foiled by the labyrinthine Undergrounds and Warrior Monks hot on their heels, benevolent ego intercepted by the Gullwings' meddlesome concerns to terminate the Vegnagun menace. Reckless responsibility that proved to be its own downfall. Where does Baralai's story begin and Shuyin's story end?

"It doesn't matter. Please. Don't go on grieving alone." Her empathy soothes his soul, quells his hatred and calms the imminent storm. Yuna reaches out to him, sentimentality symbiotic in its magnitude. _"Rest."_

_'But... I want to live... please forgive me so I can live again...'_

Pyreflies tug at his body, pulling to be free from physical restraint. Baralai collapses on his hands and knees when Shuyin rips apart from his host at long last. Nausea distorts his dim surroundings as sharp footfalls sprint in the background. Failure. Baralai kneels on and breathes on the personification of his failure; his failure to diffuse a near-Armageddon crisis, his failure to save the world from his own destruction – there are too many failures to count. They personify his past mistakes, his past hatred, his past hidden agendas. The past several years of his life, which have led him to this point mock his weak character.

He struggles to breathe, clutches a hand over his heart to steady the traumatic rhythm. Strong hands pull and push him to stand, but he can no longer make sense of the world around him. Baralai remembers brisk kindness situate him against cold, organic metal of his evil making, before closing his eyes wide shut. Someone calls his name, coaxing him to drink cool relief, and Baralai coughs when he finally remembers how to breathe. He sags into the seat of his sin and strives to reign over his insanity, comforted when hearing Shuyin's singular voice fade into the backdrop of his mind.

**_"We can finally fade... together..."_**

Sounds fade, so do voices and colors and faces... Death never does fade, but does a happy memory fade? Do ghosts, and politics, and mad men, and pain and anguish fade over time? Does death ever fade? Does it? Do memories fade or do they last a lifetime?

_'I don't know. Why am I... thinking about all this...? I feel... tired...'_

Baralai remembers brown eyes glazed over in blue and full of psychotic rage, glinting with a crazed sense for justice. Obsession lies buried deep down alive somewhere, beneath so much baggage and convoluted memories. He hopes to empathize with the spirit who has become so much like him, who reminds him of himself once upon a time, and this gives Baralai all the more reason to plead with the shadow to stop.

_'Stop' 'please, stop' "Stop it!" **"You must stop!"**_

"Shut up." Shuyin growls out the syllables, the sound violent coming from a voice so light and gentle. _'Hatred isn't the way,'_ Baralai tries to reason, and the Unsent seethes at the soothing soul who strokes at his weaknesses. "You should listen to yourself. You and me, we're not so different – using power that's not ours to punish those who have wronged us in the past. Surely you can't deny that we're the same." Shuyin snarls at the conscious spasms that mess up the melody, disrupting his precious dirge, and "Why won't you _quit?"_

_'True... I may have done things I deeply regret, and some I admit I don't...'_ Control slips from his fingers, returns and slips and returns again at longer intervals. It frightens him when his resolve refuses to cease, won't just drop dead, and Shuyin flinches at his self-righteous faith._ 'But it doesn't mean I want to destroy the world!'_

Now it escalates into an all out mental struggle. Shuyin pushes to oppress and Baralai pushes some more, hatred receding, divine fury flowing, both refusing to surrender. Shuyin conspires within the melting pot of living and fleeting memories to dig out a secret from the ashes, shoves _her_ name in his face, the absence of her name speaking volumes of an invisible butterfly effect.

"Does she even know the one responsible for _his_ death?" Control falters, fluxes, flees, and this inner demon that holds responsibility for a corrupt man's final hour pulls at his heartstrings like an animal, **_'How can you forgive yourself?'_** like a vicious animal gone virile for survival. **_'If she won't ever forgive you?'_** and his friends will never want to look at him,**_ 'you are a murderer,'_** a monster, a human being who doesn't deserve the right to exist.

His absolute obedience pleases him and Shuyin pets him and keeps him close, yet holds him at arm's length when Baralai looks up with those naive eyes of a young boy too benevolent for reality. Shuyin has to wonder why does Baralai look at him like _he's_ the one who's got nothing left to fight for when really, he's the one putting everything on the line. And why does he wait with open arms as if wanting to become one when they can't be any closer?

Music echoes throughout oblivion, keys igniting to the pounding of his fingers, his heart pounding away in panic – pounding away at the memory of their brief embrace until bullets cut through them like knives. Grievances reopen the wound and the past transports him back into the untainted clouds of lightwaves, seeing happy faces of a man and woman in love, seeing them run to close the distance cradling them only to reenact the immortal tragedy.

Pyreflies roam the Farplane and Baralai blinks at the departing scene. Cataracts echo from glorious stone plateaus, pooling into reservoirs of golden light and he averts his weary eyes from its stinging brilliance. He looks to the island where he bid Yuna goodbye and smiles at the thought she wouldn't have to share his fate. Praying to the crimson star of the black sky, Baralai meditates on an image – a ray of holy light shines down on him, passing through his heart and striking at deep-seated sin – and ruminates on narrow blessings.

Baralai emerges from another episode of mental supremacy fractured, in pieces, and still alive. But for how long? To what end? Loneliness lingers in his empty arms and Baralai remembers their embrace at this very glen, the tearful reunion of lost soul-mates through the possession of two strangers. Tan cheeks darken at the memory, downcast eyes distant with sympathy, recalling a separate time, a different place he had once before been intimate.

_Dressed in a pristine white wedding gown, the young Summoner has become a magnificent sight to behold. Humanity shines in her eyes; before guarded to conceal her emotions, they now tear from dread. The gaudy flower bouquet quivers in her grasp._

_Yuna glares. In her silent cry for help, she leaps to close the distance._

Uncomfortable with this emotion pervading his heart, of this want and yearning for a woman who does not belong to him, Baralai folds his arms behind his back and surveys his surroundings until his body aches to sit down. And so he does, hugging his knees and staring off into space. His mind drifts beyond the beauty of his hypnotizing landscape, beyond the oblivion that provides the dead their paradise. Baralai reminisces her strong smile, which conceals a history of sadness and righteous anger. It reminds him why he holds her more dear than the first time they met and newfound hope strengthens his desire to keep holding on for the sake of Yuna's promise.

Baralai wonders if she made it out safe and sound, whether or not she reunited with Paine and the others. He starts to think about what Gippal and Nooj are doing as well – still looking for him, or recovering from Shuyin's latest assault? – but his attention keeps coming back to Yuna. How did she feel when Shuyin hugged her, when she opened her eyes to see Baralai behind the illusion? Did Lenne hold some control over her actions, too? Does Yuna experience the same confusing feelings for him as he does for her?

_'Does she even like me?'_ This unbidden thought makes him frown.

Who's to say she feels the same? Baralai doubts she ever considered him a suitable partner, especially given the rumors he heard. Yuna had a curious amount of Guardians during her pilgrimage, and among them were the legendary Guardian Auron and a young man who hailed from the fabled city of Zanarkand. Those two happened to be absent from the celebrations following the defeat of Sin, therefore Baralai didn't get the chance to meet the one gossipers say Yuna developed feelings for.

It's a mystery what became of him.

_tweeeeeee~_

This innocent sound splits the silence, anchoring his worn mind from miserable musings. Baralai lifts his downtrodden head and scrambles to his feet. "H-Hello?" Silence in the form of pyreflies, waterfalls, and flowers answers the echo, and he wonders if he finally became deranged from all the pain his body endured to the point of numbness. _'Was it a figment of my imagination?'_

_tweeeeeee~_

There it goes again!

"Who's there?"

No reply, except for a whistle – clear, soft, and resonant in velocity. _'Lady Yuna?'_

Coalescence of waves and light blesses his prayer, forging a pathway from the glen to darkness above where Spira awaits at the surface. Someone striking and familiar waves at Baralai, all teeth and smiles. Impatient of his stalling, the blonde youth raises his fingers to his mouth and whistles. Loud.

His racing heart compels him to take a leap of faith. _'Is he… showing me a way out?'_ Baralai moves forward and once close enough, fear places a name to his face and he staggers back upon unpleasant surprise. "Y-You…!"

_'No, not again! I barely escaped the last time. I don't think… I can repeat the same trick twice.'_

**_"There you are…"_** Shuyin feeds on fear to awaken from temporary stasis and Baralai stiffens, sweating from apprehension and bewilderment. Two? How can there be_ two_ of them? The kind teenager in front of him and the psychopathic Unsent looming from within, they both have the same face, same voice, same blue eyes.

This Utopian world of the deceased and phantasm, Baralai cannot even begin to understand this place. What used to exist and what never gave breath, the fine line between life and death – it has been blurred through the ages. As old as the Aeons themselves.

Far too tired to resist, far too weary to fight, Baralai feels his voice overlap his own.

**_"Thought you could elude me? We have a connection, you know. As long as my spirit still lingers in your soul, I'll always be able to find you."_**

"N-No… I won't… I-I won't let you… control me again!" Baralai remembers stubborn resistance, shaking hands clutching at his abdomen, and hope against hope his willpower will prove strong against psychological abuse. Cold metal brushes his skin. _'My pistol!'_

Mustering self-control, Baralai withdraws the weapon and closes his eyes, reciting a mental prayer of acceptance for his past, of perseverance for his future._ 'Take heart… Have faith…'_ Eyebrows furrow from the strain of psychological oppression, breaths falling shallower by the second. _'I can't back down now.'_ Baralai aims the gun at himself and the trembling of his hands intensify.

_**"Don't you dare…"**_ Despite this dire situation, Baralai cracks a smile. He overestimated the millennium-old Unsent. No matter the magnitude of his grief, the power of his rage, a dead soul has no physical medium. To accomplish the task of using Vegnagun, Shuyin will need a living body to touch solid objects.

Baralai begins to pull the trigger and Shuyin's uncertainty quakes his conscience. **_"Y-You don't know what you're doing!"_** Sweat trickles down his face. He worries for his friends and fears for his life, which shackles his confidence and anchors his body from moving. Baralai hates himself for it, feels ashamed for submitting to these moments of weakness when he needed his strength the most.

_'What if… Lady Yuna can't save the world? What if all I've done, to struggle and fight, doesn't make a single difference in the end?'_

By no means does Baralai have the capacity to change the world like High Summoner Yuna can, but to endure the harshest of circumstances, no matter the calamity…_ 'Is it not within human nature to survive?'_ Baralai stares straight into Auron's eyes, whom makes no move to help him. How can he, when he has already perished? He made the Farplane his home, pyreflies and pretty illusions his company. This man no longer exists.

_**"Between knowing what you want to do and what you can't… Are you aware of what has to be done?"**_

Auron's wise words pour strength into his resolve and the thunderous sound of a gunshot pierces through perpetual nightfall. Baralai remembers blacking out, singing into oblivion.

"Do*... Ti... La... Sol... Fa... Mi... Fa, Sol, Do..."

Chaos orchestrates abysmal music. Hope chimes soft and resilient in the face of horror. Pleas die fast following the fleeting tune of a helpless flute. Repercussions from the past strike the chords in his heart, violin strokes manipulate emotions by the strings, and insanity soothes hostile resistance. Mercy falls silent on deaf ears and this concertmaster continues to create electric noise, futility fuming inside imprisonment while a pyrefly ensemble resonates notes in synchronicity to a passive harp. Baralai stalks the mystical savanna, swinging his staff like a long, dangerous baton, conducting lunacy, singing destruction and laughing at it.

Fiends fall before his glowing hands which channel absorption, Fayth fall before whimsical possession to reanimate the folklore of Dark Aeons, _'and the Eternal Calm will be the next to fall.'_

"Sol. Mi*! Re*..."

Swimming in space, dreaming awake, rainbow fireflies float in front of glazed eyelids and act as spiritual leeches in sheep's clothing. Muscles move without monitor, thoughts speak against truth, voices of the deceased empower a living's will.

Baralai and this abomination cannot be anymore similar. Hate evolves from love. Justice becomes murder in disguise. They each walk the road to Hell paved with good intentions, yet an epiphany quells his reason for vengeance, _'Nooj… wasn't Nooj,'_ but not his, _'His name...? Shuyin... yes. Indeed, it is Shuyin.'_ Black emotions are set aflame once again with ire like oil to a single flare of fire, swelling in veins symbolic of his archaic enemy, Bevelle's modern leader.

"Can you hear me?"

An unfamiliar voice –_ 'his voice?'_ – attracts that of another, "Yes," – _'my voice?'_ – one possessing saving grace, an effeminate force. Feelings pour into Baralai's submissive heart, a cavity yet to be touched until invaded by illusionary warmth. _'What is this emotion?'_

"Ah, you can hear me."

"I can't see you. Where are you?"

"Right here!"

_'Who is this I feel so strongly for? Lenne? ...no, Yuna…'_

Excitement motivates him to seek out the source of light, heart pumping in his throat out of dire anticipation. Baralai wonders if Shuyin stalled his search for Vegnagun to find someone far more important than his plans for vengeance. Emerging from the mist confirms this when he smiles at the lone figure wreathed in blue and white silk.

"I finally found you."

Heterochromatic eyes flicker with hope and hidden turmoil. "Is that… really you?"

_'What is Yuna seeing? Can't she recognize me?'_ Perhaps the pyreflies are distorting Baralai's appearance to project Shuyin in Yuna's eyes. But if she doesn't know him as Shuyin, then who? Who does she refer to him as?

"It is me. Shuyin. I've waited so long… Lenne." This name rolls off his tongue, savoring the intimate sound neglected by time. How does he confuse her for another? Baralai muses Yuna must resemble the woman he loves and, if true, questions the coincidence behind their connection. Startled by the name, she lowers her caramel eyes and faces away from him, orange beads clicking with the sway of long hair. "But I'm not Lenne."

"Lenne?" Baralai utters her name, bewildered and ambling toward Shuyin's beloved. "We disappeared together, but when I awoke, I was alone. I looked for you for so long..." This scorching sensation of unsent desire, of undying love tinted with a thousand shades of grief, disgusts him. It disgusts him, because they are not his feelings, yet he wants her above everything. Baralai wants her so much, _it hurts_.

"While I wandered, I realized something. Spira hasn't really changed at all. Everyone's still fighting over nothing, still dying like they used to. A thousand years have passed, and they can't leave the hatred behind. I'm through waiting. I'll fix it. This world continues to fail us, and what's worse I failed to protect you. Vegnagun will make that all go away." He curls his fingers into a clenched fist, violent pressure bringing Baralai out of his trance. He remembers he shouldn't be feeling this way towards the world Yuna loved enough to save, towards the new era Baralai cared enough to govern. "And we'll fade again, together. Help me do it, Lenne…"

Using these hands which do not belong to him, Shuyin touches her shoulder. She doesn't respond, except tilt her face._ 'Why won't she say anything? Please, look at me, Lady Yuna. See _me_, Baralai.'_ Desperate rationality drowns beneath the passionate rise of emotions and he jerks her around, wrapping her in his arms. _**'Finally. We are together again.'**_

Shuyin pulls away and gazes into her eyes, convinced that she truly stands before him. The illusion flickers – _'Yuna!'_ – and he strokes her hair, caresses her face. _'Don't you see? This is not–'_ Common sense fails to reach lovelorn ears. To share this single moment with the one person he held dear, she can receive the affection Shuyin yearned to deliver for a thousand years. Baralai wishes it didn't have to be this way.

He has no choice but to submit under Shuyin's control and bring her back closer into his embrace. Basking in this vicarious intimacy – how his arms cradle the curve of her back, how her face rests on his shoulder, her forehead on his cheek – makes Baralai believe she belongs here with him. Longing. Adoration. Desire. Contentment. The physical and emotional sensations, _'was this what love felt like?'_

Baralai feels like an intruder, witnessing such bittersweet ministrations between star-crossed lovers. But he can't stop Shuyin, no matter how much he resisted, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much he _didn't_ want to. He allows himself to forget, if only to claim a moment he can never have.

_**"If she was your girl, what would you do?**_

_**"...I know you're listening... I was only trying to save the Summoner!**_

_**"If she was your girl, what would you do? I want to see her..."**_

Baralai remembers shedding tears for ironic injustice, daring to understand someone long gone, a ghost who victimized him like no other. "Huh? Baralai... are you crying?" And how can he not?

History dictates murder by the heartless hands of war. Bevelle left Zanarkand prisoners to die of starvation in dark prison cells. No one performed the Sending for them, not for this particular man. They dumped his corpse in a cave, didn't even bother burying him, just abandoned him there to rot. Ever since then, he couldn't move on. The pyreflies prevented him peace of mind. Reminding him for centuries his death, her death, his failure to protect someone he truly cared about...

Baralai knows better than to feel genuine sympathy for this manifestation of evil, the very same spirit who harmed him, harmed his friends, harmed many people before them in pure manslaughter. _'But he's been through so much. He died, because of Bevelle; where's the justice in that...?'_ This visual tragedy of being denied everything he wanted, a man who once had a life just like any other human being – misplaced compassion propels Baralai to stand between them, regardless of friend or foe.

"Don't! Stop hurting him!"

"Wha – Baralai! Get back here!"

Baralai can't remember how it came to be, repossession in the loving arms of a hateful man, shivering at the chill spreading down from his neck, reaching up to hold his face, because he _can't just stop laughing_. "You... you... oh you _are just too easy!"_

"That damn kid! Fooled us with a replay of his memories."

He wants to shriek and cry forever, surrender to never-ending pain and take the coward's way out, but his inner soldier reminds him the Crimson Squad did not build him only to break. Baralai proved them all wrong by surviving the merciless elements of Sanubia, which pushed him beyond his physical _and_ mental limits. He entered the fray of life as a priest and came out a soldier unafraid of murder, wielding justice as his ever faithful sword.

This situation proves no different. He will have to rely on personal judgement to diffuse the crisis, no matter the cost. Baralai strives to stave his own resentment and unforgiving rage, to pave the way for kindness to flood from the deepest corner of his heart. If continuous resistance fails to provide victory in the end, he decides he must give everything of himself to accept Shuyin. By absorbing him and becoming one, Baralai can break Shuyin from within using the pure truth.

Baralai remembers another brutal battle against people trying to protect him from himself, remembers seeing Gippal collapse under the brunt of Shuyin's illusory blade. He will never forget the look he gave, blonde head bleeding from a severe concussion while trembling to stand on gloved hands, fear swirling in his exotic green eye. Baralai relishes the palpable emotion on his tongue and raises his arm for the final fatal strike.

"And then there was one."

_'Stop hurting my friends!'_

Baralai grunts and grits his teeth, holding his head with one hand._ 'Stop!'_ His conscience shouts without stop – _'Stop it! stop it! I said STOP!'_ – and the words repeat – **_"You must stop!"_** – the owner now different. _"Stop it!"_ The memory of Paine acting out of serious concern for her best friends serves as holy water to the devil's influence. Shuyin likewise retaliates, pushing more dark memories into the surface, but Baralai ignores the morbid familiarity of which holding the pistol ignites.

_'You… are the reason… I almost died…!'_

Baralai exhausts every inch of his magic reserves, even reaches out into mana-laden air to cast gravitational energies. Incorporeal tons slam onto his body, blood rushing to his head, reddening his vision, would have otherwise smashed himself upon deathly impact if Shuyin hadn't presented inhuman resistance in time to react.

_'You… are the reason why Nooj… suffered all this time!'_

Lungs suffer ridiculous amount of duress, compressing to the point of hyperventilation. Kneecaps experience breakage of the bone, legs sinking to the ground fast as blood vessels threaten to burst from the excruciating strain. Darkness creeps along the corners of his eyes.

_'You're the reason our friendship is broken!'_

**_'I can't die here…'_**

_'You're not supposed to exist.'_

**_'I can't, not now, not ever...'_**

_'You died' – **'...not again. I can't, I can't, I can't die!'** – 'a long time ago.'_

_**'Not again, not again, not'** – 'You know that' – **'Not until I find her!'** – 'so why don't you stay dead?'_

"What... do you know..." His voice grows hoarse, volume rising to the vicious dial of pain. "What do you know? _What do you know!"_

Gravity ripples upon immediate shift in control, sweeping across the entire platform to disorient the living and lightwaves. Despite his mortal lungs and the violent pangs crippling his legs, Baralai dashes. His body protests against self-inflicted abuse, yet somehow manages to surpass human limitations. Indigo electricity generates in hand and Shuyin grins from psychotic delight. Leaping to skip across the splintered trail, twirling at the balls of his feet, raw energy explodes from his fingertips and malignant telepathy springs the creature out from its inter-dimensional prison.

A mechanical unicorn soars into existence, emitting shockwaves in the wake of traveling hooves. Evil beguiles the steed to rush to his aid and Baralai leaps to the motions of momentum, body crumbling at the attempt, limbs flailing to catch the adjacent ledge. Baralai plunges, the temptation to scream departing for uncomfortable numbness, and faints into the last thought he holds true –

_'I'm sorry... for being weak... everyone...'_

Soaking in the ocean of saccharine energy, free-falling into the deep depths of the Farplane, Baralai plummets through pyreflies that highlight his demise. Falling up, heels catching the edge, walking backwards, he faces Nooj once again and tightens the gun on hand.

**_'This is my chance!'_ **Déjà vu seizes his senses like the Den of Woe incident, machina aimed straight at the Mevyn's head, but Paine's not here to stop him this time.

"Now you can have it ... Two years ago it was the same with you, Nooj, seeking your own _death_ ... See, I've found that the mind that hates and despairs is the easiest to break." Repugnant glee warps his benevolent, angry voice. Baralai smiles, relishing the sight of Nooj collapsed on his knees before him, gasping for breath, life hanging on a single thread, and he has the power to tie the noose.

**_'Watch me kill your friend with your very own hands. This is what you've been waiting for. You've craved this ever since he betrayed you!'_**

_'No! That was you!'_ Vehemence fails to dissuades its influence, only fueling it evermore. Baralai remembers that fateful day he lost everything, why he always dreamed of this day, and a heart-rending scream penetrates the tense atmosphere, echoing the memory of a delusional realization.

_'My friends betrayed me.'_

_**'Surrender to me so I can end all suffering!'**_

_Baralai awakens alone in a room that does not belong to him._

_The orange rays of the morning sun spills through the open window, granting the disoriented teenager warmth from the cold depths of his bewilderment. Bloodshot brown eyes bulge at the violent pangs erupting in his backside. Memories with incredible clarity explode inside his mind, forcing him to recall everything that led him to this very moment._

**_'We lost each other like how you lost your friends.'_**

_The couple screams in chorus a silent frigid scream of heartbreak and gunshots tear them apart from one another's embrace. Fallen to the floor, he reaches out for her. Fingers twitch, but his body won't move. Tears stream down her cheek as he watches the life fade from her caramel eyes._

**_'Lenne died. I died. You almost died.'_**

_One gunshot knocks the air right out of his lungs. Lightning pangs crawl throughout his trembling body and Baralai never felt more afraid of living after today. Knees collide to the ground, before he collapses face first into blood-soaked earth._

**_'Your friend betrayed you.'_**

_Multiple gunshots. "I said your work is done!" One more gunshot._

_**'You turned your back on the ones you loved.'**_

_She holds him tight, afraid to let go, despite his half-hearted protests. He grips her hand and cradles it to his chest, promising her a hopeful truth. "I won't be away for too long. Someday, I will return home ~ save your tears, cause I'll be back... but until then, wait for me." He turns around to start walking, not wanting to see her shed tears for his sake. He would drop everything to stay by her side if only she told him not to depart, and that's why he doesn't dare look back._

_**'You walked away.'**_

_"I'm sorry, Mother. This is something I have to do."_

_**'What do you have to show for it?'**_

_"I have to do this Lenne. Sorry. I guess... this is goodbye."_

Baralai feels like a child, sitting alone in a corner and hugging little knees to his chest, crying tireless tears, reflecting, guilty beyond words of the crimes he committed as an adult. Baralai vowed never to unlock the seal on his inner demons, to never allow his emotions to take over – but nobody ever gave him a choice.

_'Mother... Father... I'm scared.'_

Darkness. Pyreflies. Voices. Screams. Gunshots.

Utter chaos. Bloody murder.

Perpetual unrest.

**_"...It must've been the pyreflies."_**

**_"...somebody's raw emotions... hijacked my brain..."_**

**_"It made me feel fear and–."_**

**_"Regret–."_**

**_"And despair."_**

Negative energy carries pregnant agony and grief, threatening to consume what remains. Baralai feels himself moving, running further and further away from his body, retreating into the secret confines of his mind only to find himself lost.

_'It's so dark... but why did come here? This is where...'_

_**"This is the final exercise."**_

_'...where...'_

**_"Those who return alive will become formal members of the Crimson Squad."_**

_'...where I want to forget...'_

**_"This is it, gentlemen. You have your orders."_**

_'...forget everything about–'_

**_"Begin!"_**

_'–that horrifying day!'_

Light bursts forth from Nooj's torso, scattering in fluid streams of iridescent soul fragments. Pyreflies pass and slip through the barrier of flesh to swim in Baralai's bloodstream, weaving through bones and organs, latching onto his nerves and injecting dose after dose of poisonous emotions into his heart. No, that can't be right, the pyreflies are flowing _away_ from him now, returning to Nooj and ... what does it mean to be himself?

"I made him do it. He was too weak to resist me." Baralai hears his voice, the voice of an enemy, a comrade, someone who reflects his rage in the eerie glow of his glasses. "I don't expect you to present any more of a challenge. Not now." And Baralai realizes what a fool he's been, unable to notice, unable to _understand_ –

"Nooj?"

"Answer me! Why?"

"You shot Paine, too?"

"You... and Paine ... were easy targets. Yes, I shot you. This has turned out perfectly, wouldn't you agree?"

_'I need to know. I have to know why he did it. Unlike Maester Kinoc, he's my friend. I can't just shoot him, give in to temptation and... and... what am I waiting for? This can't be Nooj. Friends don't aim guns at each other, friends don't go shooting each other in the backs, friends don't – they don't – do things like that!'_

The rage lying dormant in his heart flares to life again, locking Baralai in place.

Things are happening way too fast and everyone wants answers, but nobody wants to give, only take, and Baralai's reached the point he cannot take anymore of this, sick and tired of life taking everything precious to him and – what does Gippal think he's doing, trying to retake the situation already out of control?

"If this is what it takes, don't push me." Gippal levels his own gun on Baralai to even the odds, finger trained on the trigger following a plea, "That's enough!" a hope for compromise, "Nooj! Apologize already!" an unspoken cry for help, "Just calm down!"

"Answer me!" When Nooj says nothing, only stares with indifferent cold eyes, angry tears blur the silver lining and Baralai demands clarity on the day of his ultimate demise. "We were _friends_, and you shot us in the back! Why did you shoot Gippal and me? _Why did you shoot?"_

"Baralai!"

Lucidity rewinds the reality. Baralai releases his finger from the trigger. Mercy prompts him to return the gun in its safe and rightful place. He turns around to lift his frown upside down, eyes praying to the glowing sigils of Yevon for forgiveness. _'Why would I ever think of hating you?'_

He would never say "I believed in you once," because the past tense insinuates a different story, which has every reason to be misunderstood. "When we were training in the Crimson Squad, I thought I'd never find a better friend... It's the truth." Baralai backs away from the edge and turns once more on his heel, tuning out an inner voice _"...but you betrayed that, two years ago."_ This doesn't sound like him at all, doesn't sound like anything his friends would ever do; why would he ever say such a thing? These two men standing before him, what reason could they ever have for betraying him?

Baralai remembers how nervous he felt to be standing next to Nooj when so much has been left unspoken between them, remembers the tense words exchanged over a broken bridge on the ruins of their friendship, and when Gippal's the last to arrive and they reunite in the undergrounds of Bevelle …

"The Youth League and New Yevon are crumbling without you guys to hold 'em together. Sure you should be here?"

"If you were on time, then I'd really start to worry." Nooj stifles a sardonic chuckle.

Baralai feels his world coming back into order. The way it should be.

"You're late." Baralai lightens his pokerface. Gippal waves hello.

"Hey ~_ uh, Nooj? My name's Gippal."_

_"I'm from Bevelle. You?"_

_The horizon ripples beneath a clear blue sky. __He shields his eyes from the sun, hand outstretched to cast shade. Blowing sand and glaring light assaults his sight and he sighs into impossible humidity, breathing in the Bikanel heat._

_**"This moment's enough. I don't need anything else."**_

Baralai smiles into darkness and lets go.


	2. Remembrance (I)

This took too long to get out, and this came out slightly different than what I expected (which makes all the difference in this story's direction, really), but I'm just glad I got this posted. There are so many feelings and frustrations associated with this chapter, that I can't really express how much this chapter means to me. Except that it's "the beginning of the end."

This was supposed to be longer, but I cut it down to two (maybe three) parts. Chapter 3 is halfway done. :3

Sorrow! Delight in this new addition! **  
**

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**Chapter 2–Remembrance {I}**

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_**First Hour**_

_"This moment's enough. I don't need anything else."_

_And the two star-crossed lovers depart for eternal rest._

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Yuna's the last to leave after lingering pyreflies dispel the loving illusionary embrace. Fists clench due to unbidden envy. Deceased Lenne may be, her emotions mature still. Such courage it took to admit the reality, to let go of what they have for the sake of rest.

Descending the crooked path to where everyone's gathered, Yuna almost gasps at the sight.

Surrounded by friends and loved ones, his body looks so _broken _and it frightens her to face him after all this time. Handsome politician by trade, a silver-tongue, someone cold-hearted, calculated, and compassionate; hypocrisy does the golden heart injustice.

Beneath the grounds of Bevelle, Baralai fought the Gullwings to safeguard a secret, to spare them from certain doom. That encounter taught her how hands meant to hold pens and important papers can break bones and brandish guns; eyes meant to charm friends and disarm strangers can freeze bodies and stop hearts; words meant to exude confidence and emphasize humility can weave perilous spells and swear impossible pledges.

Remorse had gleamed on the pistol then, and she had beat him to the trigger. Never meant to kill, only protect, and Yuna wonders if that ever reopened the wound of his betrayal. Yes, she knew. She knew about it even though he never told her, never entrusted his secrets to anyone, but she knew. Her memories with Baralai are few, yet intimate knowledge surpassed her expectations.

In the Crimson Spheres, Yuna saw a different side of him, a dynamic young man, a team player, a very sensitive soul. Baralai cracks jokes when he's about to die. Baralai proves himself open-minded to change and steadfast in his broken beliefs. Baralai doesn't hesitate to take prudent risks, to seek support in corruption to fulfill his own agendas. Beyond the heartfelt salute, the laughter, the blood-curdling screams, Yuna saw a human being, not a shepherd who sows the seeds of Yevon.

Humble, benevolent, and dignified, a man like her father. Maybe because of the resemblance, Yuna had feared losing him. He shouldn't die for the consequences of others. He still has so many years to live, so many more days to cherish alongside friends. Now that they have managed to maintain the Eternal Calm, Baralai has a new life to look forward to unburdened by past injustices. _'Wake up, so you can see Spira again.'_

It startles her to feel the fond smile on her face, and she lifts a hand to touch her cheek. For a fleeting moment, Yuna wonders if Tidus had thought the same in his final hours... and wished for her happiness.

Clasping her hands together, she approaches the unconscious Praetor, whose serene smile does not belong in the grey landscape of glowing clouds and wild thunder claps. Whenever he shall awaken, what will she say to him? What will he say to her? So much has happened since they've seen each other last, but every time they stood at opposite ends. Yuna can only recall one instance where they stood side by side as friends and she had felt very attracted to him then. Now even that feels like a distant dream...

Rikku stands by her side while the others bicker about who should carry Baralai, but Yuna tunes out the noise around her. Weary from the fight, the aftermath provides reprieve from the previous chaos and Yuna contents herself with silence. No words can begin to describe how she feels right now. She just wants to return home, back in Besaid where life held sway for the future (as much as that scares and comforts her).

Nooj staggers, foregoing his cane to gather Baralai's limp body in his arms. Paine and Gippal exchange skeptical looks, shaking their heads at his stubbornness, before moving to help. Baralai's arms hang around his neck, head lolling on his shoulder while Nooj hoists his legs around his hips. Steading him on his back, the four depart followed by LeBlanc and her goons.

"C'mon, Yunie. Let's hurry. This place will probably collapse in any minute!"

And at Rikku's prompting, Yuna descends musical platforms and unstable gateways to reach the portal Shuyin had erected. She soon steps foot into mist after exiting Vegnagun's nest, squinting to see everyone stop and place Baralai down on the flowerbed. Closing in on them, Yuna gapes and feels the tears well in her eyes.

How did she not notice sooner, clothes scorched and torn beyond recognition and soaked to the bone with blood? Yuna recognizes broken bones around the damp areas of his knees, and the head injuries which have bled out into blue cloth now dyed purple. Paine helps Nooj remove layers off his robes to assess the damage while Gippal tends to him, withdrawing a screwdriver from his belt to extract a bullet lodged within his shoulder. When they discard his tunic, dread clogs her throat to see bruises litter every centimeter of his torso.

Minuscule lead soon drops from inside the wound and Gippal sighs, wiping his forehead. Nooj pulls up his pants to check for inflammation and Paine holds his head on her lap, gazing far into the distance. It mystifies Yuna how in sync they are with their movements, communicating in the absence of words. Sitting cross-legged beside them, Gippal pokes his face. "He sure looks happy."

Paine rolls her eyes. "I think it's obvious why."

"Yuna. Could you heal him for us?" Nooj says, the glare in his glasses concealing the emotion, but not the concerned tenor in his calm voice. "I doubt we have enough time to wait until we reach the surface to give him proper medical attention." Looking at him now, Yuna sulks in the ocean of her sympathy.

"Sure. Of course." She sets herself to work. Sphere waves coalesce into white robes, before gloved hands hover over his breast. His heart beats stronger once she starts pouring energy into his bloodstream.

Moving to his cranium, her chaste ministrations flow in motion with her smooth breathing – sealing cuts on her way down to his face, and his shoulders, and his arms, and his entire torso, and the whole length of his legs. Yuna frowns, sensing something amiss in the process. An abundant amount of mana still remains in her inner reservoir and, upon closer inspection, no broken bones were to be had where there should be.

"He's sustained no mortal injuries. I don't understand this..."

"Oh, that." Gippal waves it off, nonplussed. "He probably did some of that complicated magic again. I always thought he was trolling us," Paine and Nooj raises an eyebrow at this new slang, "when he refused to heal us back then. Especially after we came close to death _many times_."

"He could cast Regeneration spells, but not Cure spells apparently," Paine says, "I don't get it. Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

Nooj chuckles. "I had asked, and he told me 'simple things are hard' with such a straight face I actually laughed."

"You, _the_ Nooj, laughing? Ha. You make me laugh, Noojster. You really do."

Yuna watches, fascinated by this real scene of friendship despite the dry and worn enthusiasm behind the humor. Instead of witnessing clips of the past, she sees them together in the flesh, alive and well and wishing for a celebration in the name of their tense reunion. Rikku and LeBlanc seem to belong right in with everyone's hilarity –

"What're we going to do with this chump? He's still _sleeping_. What if he's not right in the head after he wakes up?"

"I thought you liked pretty boys, LeBlanc." Rikku giggles at the woman who huffs.

"I like my men _manly_, and Noojie-Woojie has this most _Godly_ smile..."

Paine scoffs, crossing her arms, spying an opportunity for payback. "Your hostility towards Baralai makes me suspect you two have a history. He did mention an opera singer one time..."

"...'A flighty lady that would not stop pestering me to marry her.'" Gippal sings the words, snickering. Paine smirks. "Your love for spotlight and exposure sure fits the bill, sweetheart."

"What?! _Never!"_

"And your voice. Ugh..."

LeBlanc shrieks, unable to form coherent words.

– and Yuna smiles, resigned to stay by his side until they return to see the sun again. Dry blood stains her white gloves after she removes his bandana, placing her palm flat on his feverish forehead. She wishes she had Lulu's tender precision for the mildest blizzard spell to soothe him. What more can she do for him, after he has endured so much? Because Yuna had been looking, she notices the rapid eye movement behind his closed eyelids. _'He's dreaming... I wonder what he's dreaming about.'_

Yuna could always dreamwalk into another person's mind, but she never dared to consider the thought outside of practice, since it requires an intimate invasion of one's privacy. But to do so out of curiosity, without proper permission? What a disrespectful thing to do!

But still, she faces temptation. She desires to know more about him beneath the deeper layers of his shell and, to reassure herself, check the state of his mental and psychological well-being.

Yuna imagines someplace where they have both been at least once in their individual lives. Bevelle? No, too much unpleasant history. Sanubia Desert. Yes, the searing dunes she had to tread on foot alongside her Al Bhed captors, alone and brave without her Guardians. That had been right before the Guado invaded the Al Bhed people's Home under Maester Seymour's command. She blamed herself for that traumatizing incident, because Yuna served as the catalyst for its ultimate demise. Redirecting her mind from this dreadful line of thought, Yuna imagines Baralai walking the same trails of endless sand during his Crimson Squad days. Two years ago, sometime before the start of her pilgrimage, an acolyte enlisted his hopes on this new military project.

Yuna dreamwalks through the earthen borders of his mind, boots passing the reaches of reality and into the reemergence of a sunlit memory.

His first day of training. _'My first day of reconnaissance.'_

Surprise shifts the atmosphere into a whirlwind of pure emotion.

Yuna finds him standing tall against the elements, scanning his immediate surroundings. Baralai shields his eyes from the sun, hand outstretched to cast shade. The look in his eyes, which shine bright with unmistakable innocence, holds a sense of greater purpose. Even in his teenaged years, Baralai had strong direction and that has not changed about him, despite the years subsequent to Nooj's betrayal.

'_Maester Kelk Ronso entrusted me an important task of utmost secrecy, an honor for a humble priest such as myself. But how will I be able to keep tabs on Maester Kinoc if he continues to insist on special treatment? I must learn the true aim of this exhibition.'_

It startles her to feel his thoughts flow inside her mind, feeding her an incredible detail of his life beyond her wildest imagination. Yuna should have expected the possibility of stumbling upon secrets best kept sealed, especially secrets belonging to a man who would eventually become the future Praetor of Yevon's splintered children.

Yuna watches him unravel a map of continuous-shifting geography, who watches candidates expel nervous energy by milling about and pitching up tents. Explosions and gunshots resound beyond the dunes, out of sight and out of mind until sudden bombardment raises the sand, lacing the desert heat with combustion and insidious smoke. Yuna coughs and crouches to her knees, covering her ears from the chorus of a thousand shellfire, head pounding to the merciless rhythm of shell shock.

Everything around her seems to slow down, sound carrying the echoes of combat and sharp gunfire, but Baralai just stands there unmoving in the midst of chaos. Yuna focuses on the most surreal sight, of him holding the object of sacrilege in all his human glory and youthful flaws. The square barrel feels alien in his bare hands, hot metal imprinted with the uniform crimson insignia. His fingers are shy of the trigger, fearful of the heavy clip loaded with death's favorite lead.

Yuna perceives his inner turmoil. The gravity of his sacrifices no doubt hadn't crossed his mind until this put his religious tolerance to the test. _'Am I allowed, no, _expected_ to use this?' _

She feels this overwhelming desire to walk towards him and clutch those hands that touch the taint of metal, because Yuna understands at least an inkling of how he must have felt. Aniki gave her the Tiny Bee double pistols as a family gift following her initiation among the Gullwings, even had the clumsy care to teach her how to wield them. Yuna counts her blessings it had been her choice during the time of Eternal Calm; unlike Baralai, whom Yevon promised chapters of glory on par with Crusaders while Sin haunted everyone in their sleep.

"Is there a problem?" Startled by the stern rhetoric, Baralai turns to regard the plump man who challenges the desert in orange robes. Wen Kinoc, a Maester of Yevon and the Commander of Bevelle's army. "Man up, soldier. You're not in Bevelle anymore."

"Maester Kinoc, sir." Baralai stands straighter, body stiff as he bows to show his respect. "Thank you, for your... strict words."

"What are you doing standing around for? Report to your station!"

"I... Of course, sir. Right away, sir!"

Baralai runs to find his team and Yuna watches him go, scared of the consequences. She knows exactly where this will lead; Baralai will walk the road to Hell paved with good intentions, into the jaws of New Yevon. Everything started on the day he met Nooj, Gippal, and Paine for the first time, before he entered the Den of Woe, before Baralai went to Seymour for revenge – causing the catalyst for Shuyin's machinations. If she lets him walk away now, will he relive the past two years of his suffering in dreamscape? Two years spent researching forbidden archives, playing at politics and spinning nefarious plots?

'_Why do I feel dread? Surely what already happened in his life... can't happen again, right?'_

Dreams are not real, not anymore. Not when the power of the Fayth are gone and Summoners can never again summon. Yet Yuna recalls the voice of her father, as if his insightful words are trying to quell doubts already expunging the dry roots of her fractured faith.

"_But dreams, they feel real while we're in them, right? Dreams may not make a lot of sense, but they always carry hidden messages of truth."_

Somewhere in her heart, she knows –

Watching his back recede into the distance, she gives chase.

Yuna crosses the distance to clutch his sleeve, because if she lets go now –

"Baralai!"

'_I think I might lose you.'_

He halts in his tracks and turns around, confused. Their eyes connect and she smiles, a smile so short-lived it comes apart at the seams. His eyes... they are looking _through_ her, not at her, searching for the presence responsible for his pause. Does he not see her, or does the past conceal her behind the film of his memory?

"Baralai... Baralai, Baralai! It's me! Can't you... see me...?"

Does he really not hear her? Yuna frowns, flustered. This sudden sense of urgency and desperation, where did it come from? She has no reason to feel this way. Not when their lives are no longer on the line, when Baralai will wake up from this nightmare anyway. She shakes her head and tries to smile at her foolishness, before stepping back. Touching his sleeve where her hand once laid, Baralai won't budge in his contemplation even after a Warrior Monk orders him to get moving. Something compels Yuna to stay long enough to see the smile form on his face.

_'Huh? Why... Why does he look at me like that?'_

"Thank you."

"Yunie! Yunie, Yunie!"

"Hey, Yuna, stop daydreaming."

_'Why do his words__... sound so familiar?'_

By the time Baralai departs with such bittersweet sorrow in his gait, Yuna reaches for cold air.

The warm sound of Rikku's mischievous voice and the soft tap of Paine's knuckles on her head brings her back to reality. Back to the sight of Baralai's face and his smile frozen in slumber, surrounded by the people important to them both. Rikku grins, bouncing to the beat of her hyperactive energy. "Guess who's here~."

From the foggy abyss, Braska emerges alongside his wife and Guardians.


	3. Remembrance (II)

_Yes! Finally finished!_ So much care and delicate allusions make up the quality of this chapter, and I wanted to make sure to include everything that deserved to be remembered (since reflections and themes are very important in this story, since it heavily relies on FFX + FFX-2 canon). Chapter 4 is actually 80% done, with a rough draft for Chapter 5 and 6 written out (excluding the first main fight scene; er, that's enough of spoilers out of me!)

Also, I've always wanted this kind of interlude in the aftermath of Vegnagun's defeat before we cut to Luca, and this chapter reflects my headcanon for it (and deepest, heartfelt wish that was never answered).

Sorrow, I hope you are reading this and finding inspiration. :3

_Chapter Song: Feel So Close (Tonu Roostalu remix) ~ Artist: Calvin Harris_

_Main Song: He Films The Clouds Pt.2 ~ Artist: Maybeshewill_

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**Chapter 3–Remembrance {II}**

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**_Second Hour_**

_"Thank you."_

_By the time Baralai departs with such bittersweet sorrow in his gait, Yuna reaches for cold air._

_From the foggy abyss, Braska emerges alongside his wife and Guardians._

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Yuna runs. She runs to close the distance, only for history to repeat itself. Reaching out for the ghost of a man she once called father, Yuna feels the familiar cold rush of pyreflies before the harsh impact of solid ground. She hears the echo of heartbreak in the soul fragments that cling to her own, sees the tail end of a lingering memory float before jade eyes. It ascends into the beautiful twilight – like that fateful night on the Fahrenheit.

Yuna knows miracles cannot revive the dead. The Fayth did not come two years ago after she saved the world the first time, did not come after the second time to bring her lover back to life. Yuna had to earn her happy endings, without the people she loved most to stand by her side. This moral lesson emerges from the deep depths of her subconscious, in the form of pain. She picks up the pieces of her dignity, the precious infantile memories of her father, and picks herself up on her feet, turning around to face him. No amount of time or mental preparation can compete with the sudden swell of emotion.

"Father..."

"Yuna." He smiles, a smile so sad, so full of hope.

The same broken smile he wore years ago the day he said goodbye, the day he came back to visit, the following morning he left for Zanarkand, and the evening she saw him in the Farplane many years later. His smile hasn't changed. _He _hasn't changed.

"You are a full grown woman now. You look... so beautiful, like your mother." And the unspoken apology:

_"I'm sorry I couldn't be there to see you grow."_

Yuna smiles, conflicted. How long had she dreamt of hearing those same words from the first important man in her life? "Thank you, father. I have always doubted... whether or not your sacrifice was truly a mistake."

"It was not." Braska walks to stand within reach of her, unable to embrace his adult child – not a child anymore, an adult, a young adult now – in his moment of remorse, agony and eternal longing. "It wasn't a mistake, Yuna. Never a mistake. I partook of my pilgrimage knowing full well the injustice of my end, because I had hope. I hoped to give you time, and here you are with all the time in the world. I knew what life had in store for you. I knew, ever since Bahamut refused to tell me the truth."

"What do you mean...?" So many questions still lie unanswered – how much of the grand scheme the Fayth were able to manipulate, and for how long – but Braska puts a stop to that train of thought.

"It's all in the past now. What matters is you are alive in a new world without Sin, and I had died investing in that future. I couldn't be any more happier. Yuna, I would like you to meet someone." Yuna feels the tug of pyreflies surrounding her fingers, guiding her by the hand until it takes her before the blonde woman who shares her face.

"Mother... Mother, it's really you."

Yuna begins to cry, because she can't hold her, can't be held by her, can't remember the last time she felt proud to resemble her mother. Nobody for _years_ would step up to account for her mother's existence before Uncle Cid came along. No one around to point out the traits she inherited and say 'oh, you have her eyes' or 'you have her smile,' or even the classic 'you look like her, you know.' Spira chose to acknowledge Braska and Braska only after the dubious fact he became High Summoner, and he managed to earn that title _in death_ during a time when church and followers alike had forsaken him.

So many things Yuna lost along the way, _so many people_, friends and family – and she lost them to Spira, the people of Spira Yuna once claimed she loved and would lay down her life for as if to compensate for the short-lived love Yuna received from her own parents. Why does the irony continue to torture her, even after the worst has come to pass? She wishes she can stop crying now in front of all her companions, because she wanted to be strong, not weak.

"...'I don't like your plan. It sucks.' That's a good one." Yuna blushes, embarrassed by the heartfelt sound of her mother's laugh. Its wonderful cadence fills the hole in her heart, echoing within the guarded walls of hope. "You really do have your father's spirit. All goody-goody, and full of stubborn heart."

"I told ya little Yuna could pack some serious ass-whooping."

"Sir Jecht!"

Yuna recognizes the bright orange and red sash that flares around his right leg, recognizes those endless scars of untold tales on his burly tan body. The black tattoo emblazoned on his muscular chest mirrors the Zanarkand Abes insignia Yuna wears between the open neckline of her halter-top – a memento of Tidus, his blitzball team and his father's. It reminds her of their final battle within Sin when she had to strike him down, singing the Hymn, praying, dancing to his demise, watching him kill her Aeons and incapacitate her friends until he summoned a broadsword of demonic proportions from his gargantuan chest as if the insignia itself had been the contract. She will forever associate that symbol with an abusive father whose own son hates him, because in her broken dreams she never stops dancing as they die, loving each other, fading away together – and she stands alone on the deck of an airship.

These are the thoughts and memories Yuna experiences in the single moment it took to register Jecht's presence. "For the longest time, I... I've been wanting to tell you that... I'm truly sorry." Yuna bows low, biting back the tears. "I never wanted to fight you. I-I never intended to hurt you. If I had known sooner, maybe..."

'_I would have found a better solution,' _Yuna doesn't get the chance to say once a chill squeezes her bare shoulder. She knows his hand rests there, trying to convey reassurance.

"Oh, don't be apologizing for that!" he says, awkward at the receiving end of her huge apology. "You did what you had to do, right? No hard feelings." Yuna straightens herself, struck wistful by the sight of Jecht scratching the back of his head. Now she understands where Tidus got that nervous habit from. There hiding in Jecht's shadow, his wife steps forward to greet her with a timid smile.

"Hello, Yuna. Jecht told me much about you. Thank you for taking care of my son."

Yuna remembers seeing her once, the image of a plainspoken and pretty woman. The same woman who, on all accounts, ignored her child to the point of neglect for her husband's attention. A woman who wallowed in depression after the sudden disappearance of her spouse, and later took her own life. Yuna frowns, feeling a shiver deep in her bones.

_"The old lady next door told me that when a lovebird dies, the one left behind... it just gives up on living so it can join its mate. It was just like that."_

Tidus had told her that sad story in this very realm, after he conjured the unconscious image of his mother in a fit of old resentment, and this startling parallel hit too close for comfort. Had Yuna not also done the same, anguishing for more than two years over the loss of her true love and considering the value of her own life?

_'Do I really want to continue living like that? Delirious with unfulfilled hope?' _

Yunalesca comes to mind, the first High Summoner whose name she inherited, and her temporary solution to a permanent problem. Death and sacrifice quelled Sin, but never for long. Yunalesca knew this, but duty forever bound her to a hopeless cause. For the sake of her father, for the sake of Dream Zanarkand, and for the sake of Spira's children. Hope and sorrow twisted her soul until Yunalesca could no longer hope for change in this sorrowful world.

There were several others who remained in the mortal realm after death; Auron clung onto the living memory of a promise; Seymour Guado desired to liberate the world from its eternal suffering; Jecht couldn't escape the spiral of death he wanted to end, nor could he stop his drive to preserve its cycle; Yo Mika spoonfed the people lies, secrecy, and false hope in order to keep Yu Yevon alive; Belgemine redeemed her failures in life by training fledgling Summoners while Ginnem became a monster consumed by wrath, summoners who perished during the course of their respective pilgrimages; Wen Kinoc and Jyscal Guado could not heed the call to heaven pass the crimes they committed; Lord Zaon refused to depart for eternal rest without his Lady Yunalesca by his side; Trema dwelled in the undergrounds of his new organization, singing to the pyreflies a Hymn for all the memories he burned to ashes.

Even Maechen the scholar had accepted his fate after he remembered the thousand years spent learning the world and telling old tales. Lenne and Shuyin's story had been the most tragic one of all, the ghosts of lovers past unable to find each other for centuries; but Tidus wouldn't stay. He fulfilled his purpose in life, and disappeared. He never became a malevolent Unsent like Shuyin, or a benevolent one like Lenne. He's been resting in peace ever since she last saw him, and that revelation pains her more than if he were a ghost.

So many others have come and gone, but why did it have to be _him?_

"He was someone very precious to me, and I... I cherished him as much as I could even after the end."

Yuna bows again to obscure the incoming tears. Maybe it would be for everyone's best interest, and of course her own, to put her long-lasting grief for Tidus to rest. "Thank you for bringing him into my life. Without a mother, he would never have been born, able to live or learn to love." The absence of blame and pity made the melancholic woman smile in gratitude.

"Yuna."

For some reason, she had imagined Auron to look different – younger, without the telltale sunglasses, grey streaks gone and the left arm no longer slung in the obi of his coat. She expected him to have reverted to his physical appearance once he reunited with Jecht and Braska, a soul stuck at the age of twenty-five like the time of his initial death in the beginning of Braska's Calm. And yet, Auron looks the way he always did to her, wise, forlorn, and strong – a father figure. He would walk ahead or stay by her side, back so broad she always wanted to lean on it, knowing she felt safe. Yuna will never forget the look of pride on his grim face as she performed the Sending for him on the eve of Yevon's ultimate defeat. That night, she gave more goodbyes than smiles.

"It made me proud to see you fight out there."

"Thank you, Sir Auron. Your words... and everyone else's, they encouraged me. I don't think I would have been able to push through without your support. Your voices reminded me of the sacrifices you all made to ensure my success."

"Searching the past to find the future..." Yuna looks away, forlorn. "You know better than anyone, I believe, the futility behind such a pilgrimage. Hold your head high, and look towards the future. The past has nothing left to offer you."

"Kimahri... said the same thing. And Wakka, too, in their own ways. Everyone has been able to move on. Even Lulu, and Cid... pretty much everyone I know. I'm the only one..."

And then it hits her: '_I am no different from Shuyin.'_

Yuna spent two years doing what Shuyin had done in a thousand: regret.

Yet Yuna became a sphere hunter for the same reasons Paine did: to find answers.

No one can understand her position better than Paine, because she knows how it feels to cling onto a broken dream. Her romance belonged to three men, their wish to pilot an airship and the everyday sight of all their cheerful faces on the deck of _SS Winno_. Who knew that Paine could be so social, or Nooj could crack jokes? Gippal looked so precious beside his first Spiran friends, and Baralai – he surprised her most of all! She had never heard him laugh before, or even smile like... such a boy. Yuna saw his eighteen-year-old face, witnessed a silence break apart between the open smiles and boisterous laughter of his friends, and his own.

His vengeful heart lies trapped in the past, like his happiness in the collective film of sphere waves. Hell bent on revenge, he turned to Seymour after he had lost everything, because _he had no one else._ Yuna had her friends, her Guardians, but he had no one he could trust. She and Baralai were the only ones who couldn't move on, except he managed to follow and lead the world at large in the capital of corruption while Yuna wasted away at the beach of her childhood home. Every day looking at the ocean, waiting for a sign...

Yuna comes to a heart-pounding epiphany. '_This has to stop.'_

Her father's voice anchors her to the present. "Is your friend alright?"

Braska glances at the comatose Praetor and Jecht scowls, rolling the imaginary kinks from his shoulder. "Put up a real fight, that one..."

"I think so," Yuna says, managing a smile, "He just needs some proper sleep."

"I hear ya." Jecht steps closer, kneeling to get a better view of him. "Hey, Braska, maybe you should check on him. Make sure he won't rampage on the living. I bet everyone's had enough of ghosts and possessions in this lifetime."

"Good idea, Jecht. Everyone, allow me to take a look into his psyche."

"You can do that?" Gippal says, crossing his arms, concerned for his friend. Braska smiles to disarm his skepticism.

"Why, yes, but it's not a popular practice. Summoners are taught the ability to dream-walk following their apprenticeship."

"I've never heard of this. What, you can just 'walk' into someone's mind? Weird stuff."

Nooj harrumphs, hiding his worry. "It sounds dangerous. Think of the secrets you'll discover about a person."

"It_ is_ dangerous, in theory, since it's very difficult to open your mind to another, let alone share dreamscapes. We learn to dream-walk in order to understand the world around us, to heal those unable to recover by physical means alone. Those who show the proficiency to dream-walk are the priests and priestesses tasked with treating those infected by Sin's toxin."

"Do you know how to do this, Yunie?"

"W-Well... I do, actually... but only once have I done it outside of practice."

Thank goodness Rikku allows the matter to rest, and Yuna wonders if she did so out of assumption that she performed it during her pilgrimage. Yuna knows her cousin wants no reason to dredge up sad memories, but what would her friends think if they ever found out she prodded into Baralai's mind? Rikku will never let her live it down, and Aniki will be heartbroken for weeks.

"I will return with your friend. Pray for my success."

* * *

Baralai shoots out of slumber, startled.

Now the time has come for him to make his move, yet why does he hesitate?

He senses someone's eyes on him, though he dismisses it as a feeling often associated with spying. Paranoia has become an unlikely ally during his days on the desert, serving him well thus far. Though he wonders how long can he continue this charade without upsetting the whims of Lady Luck. Painstaking effort extracts the blanket he shares with the others. Gippal snores and moves around a lot, unlike Paine's convincing impression of a log and Nooj's tendency to play dead. Baralai smiles, stifling his laugh. _'But now's not the time to get sentimental. I need to focus.'_

Crawling over to his pile of clothes, Baralai slips on his pants, before sliding his feet inch by inch into the boots. Once he finishes tying the ribbons of his trousers around them, he dons his green vestment, breathing to control his nerves. His razor rod lies propped on the sand near him and he moves to retrieve it; after a moment of consideration, Baralai decides to leave his gun behind. He doesn't want to risk detection, even if it may cost him his life against fiends.

He had come this far without thinking twice that he never really thought about failure until now. The possibilities are endless and frightening, and he foregoes the rush to depart. Baralai shifts to sit down, clutching his staff close for some semblance of physical comfort. For the past week, he had studied his team's sleeping patterns; how Nooj sleeps like a warrior, allowing for the slightest disturbance to awaken him. Gippal takes the longest to fall asleep, probably out of discomfort to be within proximity of Spirans, and Baralai counts on his nervous energy to exhaust him before he begins to snore. Paine's the toughest to gauge for her quiet breathing. It took days for him to determine the difference between calm and unconscious with her; unless lying next to Nooj, her thoughts won't run her into the night.

During the few hours he sacrificed each night to observe his surroundings, his mind would multitask between his fellow candidates and the patrolmen outside. They tend to dowse the torches once everyone accounted for retired early. Those drafted for night watch were instructed to defend the perimeter at four designated points in pairs, much more concerned about the monsters who prowl past midnight than misconduct among recruits. If Baralai decides to break for the north, he would only have to contend with two people. Sleep spells will do the trick, but he must keep in mind the dosage of mana necessary to knock them out longer.

Sudden jerk of movement startles Baralai out of his thoughts. Gippal mumbles and smacks his lips, rolling over to fling his legs out, and Paine stirs. He sighs in relief when neither of them rise. Baralai questions why he accepted this suicide mission in the first place. There are others more suitable for this field, people much more capable and professional than himself, a mere amateur in comparison. Baralai never fancied himself a spy before, and he wonders if he can even pull this off. He had always wondered why...

Baralai takes a deep breath, banishing the thought. Too late to retreat now when he has already dug his own grave. He made sure to claim the far end closest to the opening of the tent after three nights worth of roshambo, somehow managing to eliminate any form of suspicion. Yet when the time has come to prove himself, the insinuations of every sound surrounding him tests his patience. Even his own pronounced breathing threatens to incriminate him.

Baralai watches his team rest in makeshift cots that resemble the symbol for river, counting himself absent from the picture-perfect misfit family willing to share the same space. This sense of loneliness and belonging reminds him of the childhood memory he dreamt upon dozing. It must be a sign, but of what? Baralai reaches over towards his traveler's pack, sifting through the contents until he unearths sentimental value. It somehow gives him strength, stroking the foreign lines of a phonetic language. Baralai stores the tablet inside his robe and stands, grabbing the binoculars, too, which now hang like a noose around his sweaty neck.

Baralai pulls the tent flap open a crack and slips through without looking back, blessing the night for casting invisibility on his rebellion. Those on watch are faced away, and unaware of his silent approach. Sneaking within range, Baralai licks his lips and mouths the spell, smiling when he sees them slump forward with their heads hanging down.

He sprints for the dunes, hoping to reach the hill in time before someone sees him. Hustling to climb the semi-steep incline, Baralai jumps over the peak, body slamming the sand only to roll down in the most undignified manner possible. Once at the base, he sits upright and huddles to his knees, waiting for his heartbeat to regulate and breathing to normalize before standing. He hoists the binoculars at eye level and scans the kilometers ahead, counting the dark spots that move in the distance. Fiends roam more in the desert when the sun doesn't exist as their enemy, but at least he won't have to contend with the almighty Zus. Avian fiends don't function well due to their poor night vision, but in case he ever had to face them, the most effective way would be to ground one using gravity and behead it before it can take flight again.

The presence of machina units, however, confuse and concern him the most, but are easy to dispatch with Thundara spells. Machina, though? Way out here in the middle of nowhere? Were they designed by the Bevellian army as part of their training? Gippal didn't question it, yet had no problem pulling them apart with his clever thieving hands. Baralai's basic knowledge of machina dictates they will not last long operating on their own in the elements, unless are kept operational under constant maintenance...

And only one group comes to mind. Baralai lowers his binoculars, swallowing his dread. For the past week, he recalls how Maester Kinoc seemed intent on shepherding everyone in this general direction, marching further and further into the heart of the desert. What if the Maester has been using this militaristic stint as a veil for his true motive? Whatever Kinoc hopes to find, Baralai must find it first.


	4. Inner Child, Inner Demon

_(A/N): There are quite a few allusions in this chapter that I used outside of FFX-2. _

_The first scene and the second half of the second scene were originally written for _The Pilgrimage_, and I revised them to fit into this continuity. __The quote_ 'Whose eyes are those eyes...'_ was taken from the anime series Chaos;Head; the beginning dialogue of scene two was inspired by _Inception (2012)_._

_Chapter Song: The Clockmaker, Artist: Vexare_

_Main Song: Zi-Zi's Journey, Artist: Lindsey Stirling_

* * *

**Chapter 4–Inner Child, Inner Demon**

* * *

Pleated robes of burgundy and blue blow within the evanescence of sea-salt waves and tropic winds. Muted footsteps clack on cold cobblestone and creaking wood, journeying across snow, and grass, and sand beneath the dark of night and phantom of sunlight. Incorporeal hands caress the tendrils of a weeping willow as the ghost envisions the hieroglyphic glowing walls of Macalania temple. Benevolent eyes perceive the superfluous seasons of past lives, until Braska reaches the border between reality and dreams at long last.

Braska trespasses upon the catacombs of memory, leaving behind the Farplane in order to enter a man's unconsciousness. Reminiscence traps a young boy in eternal recurrence: Baralai throws rocks at a still ocean. Misshapen stone frogs hop on liquid glass, splashing ripples all over the mirror's sky in the form of luminescent cracks. Stalactite pours rain and sadness on the lost soul who suffers in solitude and the boy soon collapses to his knees in tears, separated from his favorite playmate. Once temporary calm settles over the water, a silhouette of a growing woman smiles in the lucidity. _'Yuna...'_

Touched by this object of attachment they both share, Braska approaches the acolyte and stoops to pull him on his feet. The High Summoner coaxes eye contact, cradling his lanky arms as calm curiosity smooths the wet storm on the boy's cherubic face. "L-Lord Braska..."

"You will return to someone very precious to us, very, very soon. Take care of her for me, and I guarantee she will take care of you. Cease dreaming on the brink of suicide, child. Please, don't make this your time." Braska takes him by the hand and moves to guide him home, but Baralai's feet remains firm on the ground.

"I'm not the one you are looking for."

"You are Baralai, right?"

He shakes his head and takes a step back, another and another, until he lets go of his hand. "I am Baralai, and I am not. I am... who am I?"

"Okay, then." Braska walks forward, dropping to one knee and looking up at a face so young and downcast. Whose eyes are those eyes that have yet to see true happiness in the face of so much horror? "Can you tell me where the real Baralai is?"

"Are you sure? I don't think he wants to come back. I mean, would you?"

His cryptic words unsettle him, but Braska dismisses it. "We will never know until we try, won't we?"

"He _will_ hurt you."

"Well, we don't know about that. His friends are worried about him and I promised to make sure he is of sane mind. Won't you take me to where he is?"

"...okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

Baralai runs to escape the fiends hot on his trail. Halcyon monsters dive in midair to strike him down with their long and arrow-shaped bills, and he jumps aside to dodge each one, slashing at underbellies one after the other. For each kill and parry he delivers, the Mushussu looms ever closer, and the sand wolves sprint ahead of the fire drake, tongues lolling out the mouths and licking at their rotten sharp fangs. Baralai can hear them pant and bark from close behind, snapping at his heels, until the leader lets loose a short howl. He hears their paws disperse, sees the wolves enter in both sides of his periphery, and realizes they are trying to flank him in an ambush.

Baralai recalls in his moment of pure adrenaline that beast-like fiends are weak to fire, and he bounds forward to push some distance between him and his pursuers. Twirling on the balls of his feet, he plants his stance firm in the sand and stares in the face of so many stampeding fiends. Baralai pulls his arms in close to accumulate mana and projects an explosion of fiery magic to incinerate the wolves surrounding him. Only the drake survives the blast, plunging through the flames to inhale its fire. Baralai comes back in to conjure a wall of wind using the gyrations of his staff, resolving to stave its Fire Breath, but the flames sear his hands and force him to let go of the razor rod.

The Mushussu barrels into his abdomen, tackling him down, and Baralai doubles over in excruciating pain, flying to skid across rough sand. Struggling to breathe or even stand, Baralai can hear it huff and snort somewhere several feet away. It stays in place, digging its forefoot into the sand, and Baralai pushes himself on his feet, breathing hard. He risks a glance, spies his staff lying five feet away, and looks back at the drake. They watch each other, waiting for the other to make their move. It bows its head, Baralai bends his knees, and they charge.

Baralai lunges for his weapon and the drake curves its dash to meet him headlong. Scrambling for the razor rod, he stands upright and catches its horns against his staff in the nick of time to weaken the brunt of that headbutt. Baralai grits his teeth, striving not to budge while its acrid howls burn his nostrils. Perceiving the long inhalation of breath, he somersaults above the stream of fire, and drops to saddle the drake. Reigning in the monster beneath the brutal clench of his staff, Baralai maintains his grip as it rears and roars and spews fire. Clasping its cranium under one hand, he manipulates gravity to squeeze its brain within merciless pressure until it bucks him off its backside.

Baralai lands on the sand, winded by the impact, and stands at once to face the fire drake. It buckles on its knees, struggling to keep itself steady, blood dribbling off its gaping mouth. He waits for it to move, but it collapses, no longer possessing the energy to fight. Striding towards the monster, Baralai looks down to see it still breathes, lying there haggard and dying. In a moment of fleeting empathy, Baralai remembers that fiends were once human, only born when people's souls are unable to move on. They envy the living until hatred twists them into a single-minded, tragic existence.

Baralai resolves to end its suffering, and summons solid ice to smash its thick neck.

Counting the number of scorched cadavers that litter his immediate surroundings, he ambles to the center and prepares to perform a Sending. He lets go of the fear and anger he held towards the fiends – sentient, wrathful creatures who have lost their humanity – and begins to sing the Hymn. His footsteps dance to form the lines of a six-pointed star, and he mingles minds with those of the liberated pyreflies, watching as they ascend into the starry sky. Bodies disintegrate into dust, becoming one with the blood-soaked sands, and Baralai stands alone in the cold dark night.

He climbs another sloping incline where he knows a nest of Sandragora rests between two stone outcroppings. Once at the top, he stops to peer into the crater where two plant-like fiends sleep. How to sneak by without awakening them? He won't be able to stand the might of Sand Bursts pelting him into a state of never-ending confusion, unless he uses magic to burn them in their slumber. They will treat the pain they feel as part of a nightmare. Casting double the amount of Fira, Baralai dives in to dash across and throws himself through the flames, seething at the sudden emergence of heat that chokes him. The moment he slams onto the other side, he hustles to climb up and haul himself out before the fiends start stirring.

He races down the hill under the pull of gravity, his arms pumping at his sides. It takes a moment for the slightest stagger to send him tripping, and Baralai shields his face as his body hits the sand and starts rolling down the hill. He coughs once he reaches the bottom, having inhaled some sand by accident, and gropes for his canteen. Jerking upright, Baralai takes a long swig of water and exhales, coughing some more, before collapsing back onto the sand. He sighs, regulating his breathing to normal. Staring transfixed at the empyrean, he smiles. Such a beautiful night, in such a forsaken hot place. Baralai would never be able to see as many stars as he does now if he were still in Bevelle.

Before he can risk the chance to wonder why, Baralai sits up to lean on his propped knee and scan the area. That large and foreign looking structure located several miles out into the distance, it bemuses and mesmerizes him.

_'I found it, whatever it is. It looks like... a machina city, a fitting enough place for the Al Bhed to live. What do I do now? It took me several hours of scouting to find it. I might be faster getting back, but if I don't leave now I won't be able to make it.'_ Dawn will soon come, and he must make haste, if he wants to slip back into camp without anyone noticing. Maybe on another day, he can return and perhaps speak with the Al Bhed leader they call Cid. There are plenty of things he wants to talk about, and Baralai will risk his life if it means he can help break these racial barriers.

Lingering sentiment flares on site and Baralai's face tightens. He stands straight and shatters the illusion, reforming the landscape to replace the sand with metal plating. The hum of machina working as a collective whole reverberates around him, walling off the hot desert winds. Whoever had followed him did their best to conceal their presence until the sight of this fortress brought forth incriminating sentimentality. Baralai turns, and there they are. High Summoner Braska, a man of legend, and a boy who looks so much like himself it shocks him. What do they want? Why are they invading his dreamscape?

They are not figments of his imagination; they feel real. They do not belong here. They must be exterminated.

Baralai resolves to flush them out where they will never hope to return again.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Braska stutters, startled. "I'm–."

"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He can feel Baralai channeling his feelings of betrayal at the boy who only fidgets and looks away out of guilt.

"Yuna, your friends..." Clearing his throat, Braska dares to take a step forward, yet his wrath intervenes on their good intentions.

"How dare you lead him here. You have profaned my privacy!" His counterpart gasps and hangs his head, ashamed and unable to deny the truth. Braska sees his eyes start to water behind the curtain of his bangs, and frowns, more determined than ever to set this right. Yuna and her friends fought to defend the Eternal Calm and save Spira. They deserve to have their friend returned to them safe and sound, regardless of his inner demons and insecurities.

"I only wish to save you. Come back with me."

"Who ever said I wanted to be saved?"

Foreboding energy floods the chamber, pervading their senses, and Braska strives to breathe, overwhelmed by this negative pressure. Whatever hangs in the air motivates the younger Baralai to cast aside his tears of fright, and he charges to yank Braska behind him. "Lord Braska, you mustn't! If you stay, he will dominate you and ensure the erasure of your existence!"

Baralai glowers, spreading his arms out and slinking back into the shadows.

"You shall see... why I don't deserve to be saved..."

_"On my signal."_

Braska hears a voice on the other side of that door.

_A flash of thunderbolt short-circuits the wires, jamming the machina._

Braska flinches when the door slides open and reveals Baralai. Baralai, a tad bit shorter and bearing fresher scars. Baralai, still wearing the long dark dress robes of his falling faith. Baralai two years ago, invading the Summoner's Sanctum.

_Dozens of Al Bhed sharpshooters await as sentries surrounding three Summoners, and a trio of Aeons materialize by the beck and call of their owners. Ifrit roars, spewing fire from his nostrils, as he claws his way through metal and compacted sand to reach his master's side. The female Summoner glares daggers at Baralai upon recognition as she strokes her canine beast, taming his impulse to pounce at bay. __Ixion neighs, followed by a single discharge of hot electricity from his horn, as he jitters outside his electromagnetic prison to settle by the male Summoner. He clenches his staff, face calm in contradiction to his trembling hands while a Guardian flanks each side, one a toddler and the other a boy reaching his prime. __Valefor croons, coming to life within the portal of holy green pyreflies, whose wings obscure the young lady in the kimono dress._

_Baralai stops before them all, pausing to extend his left hand._

_"I'm sorry, Lady Yuna, but Lord Seymour requests to see you safe and sound. Come."_

_"Please inform him I decline." _

Braska senses the furious beating of Baralai's heart in the prison of his ribcage, senses the fear and determination like they were his own. They shadow his footsteps, his very breath, and prey on the memory of his weaknesses. Braska retreats from the scene, holding the young one close to him who trembles with unadulterated fear. Baralai has every reason to be afraid when two dozen men and women take aim, flaunting sacrilege and imminent harm in the name of premature trauma. His adult self maneuvers around the still souls suspended in time; a dimension most cruel and illusionary as the manipulator himself.

"You have felt this way before, haven't you? Of course you have. You have experienced them, just like me. The feelings of rebellion you can never cleanse from your soul..."

Everything about Baralai aims to disarm them; his pleasant voice and quiet saunter, they are calculated actions that pacify the prey and give the predator enough time to close the distance. He kneels down to his child's eye level, caressing the cheek that clenches with rejection. "...but _you_, you wouldn't know of rebellion unless it shot you in the back, would you? My precious, naive young self?"

Baralai seethes at the self-belittlement, unsheathing his wakizashi, yet keeping his impulse to strike back at bay in respect of their power difference. Although he cowers from his mocking touch, the courage found in his quiet voice rivals the magnitude of his adult self's rage. "I _do_ know. I know things, like pain and sadness... and betrayal, too! But I'm nothing like you. You are the fiend of hatred, and you deserve to be slayed."

Baralai backhands him and the memory comes back to life.

_"Tnub ouin faybuhc... and no one will have to die."_

_"Rajan!" _

Baralai collapses to his knees faster than a bullet can scrape its way out the barrel. _Rapid-fire bullets fly and ricochet off the wall of iridescent light, instilling temporary cracks in his magical barrier. _He coughs from the sheer force behind that spiteful hit as metal punctures magic in vain; before he can regain his bearings, his adult self stomps his back and pins him down to the ground. _Baralai pulls out a golden hourglass given to him by his master, reciting the activation spell, before planting it upright on metal ground._

"Whom would you rather save? A child?" Baralai cocks the pistol, points his Crimson Squad gun straight at his head, and tightens his finger on the trigger. "Or your very own daughter?" When faced with this heartless sight, and torn between two impossible decisions, Braska can't think pass the chaos in his head or the stress in his Unsent heart. He would never allow for the other to suffer; in reality, the only choice he _can_ make depends on which would he rather suffer the loss of – his family or his morals?

___Gravitational energy warps sensory perception, delaying actions under the immediate immobilization of cerebellar functions. Sixty precious seconds trickle down the minuscule filter one by one for every grain that dribbles to the bottom. _Although Aeons possess immunity against this manner of magic, humans are rendered debilitated, and Guado flood the chamber to wage battle against divine fury. _Mana accumulates in lethal amount until fingertips snap the thread of restraint and Baralai releases the darkness of a thousand nightmares._

"Drop your weapon, I beg of you. He is only a child."

"Or are you going to just _stand there_ and do _nothing_ while everything around you burns to the ground?"

"Why are you doing this? You don't need to do this. Please, don't do this. There is still hope for you."

"Or are you too helpless to stop it? What would you do if you were me? What would you do?"

_Flesh suffers wicked frostbite, machina experiences swift corrosion, and not even the Al Bhed's dark goggles can block the white-hot flashes that induce instantaneous blindness. Explosions erupt inside the chamber, searing cold blue bodies beyond hope of salvation. Black smoke and hot sparks permeate the air along with the stench of whatever remains in the destruction. The majority of Guado move to exterminate survivors, banishing weakened Aeons and disoriented Al Bhed from the living realm._

The death knell tolls to the number of souls fated to fall. Baralai holds his breath, unable to breathe, unable to close his eyes or shut his ears from the sight and sound of macabre – and he screams.

"Stop! Stop! You're killing them! You're killing them all~!"

Utter hysteria threatens to drown out his voice, and the man detaches from his young self who curls into the fetal position, trembling. Baralai holds total disregard for a child, let alone a priest who failed to save said child from his own inner demon. Braska contemplates the cruelty of a single man while witnessing the memory of his daughter's capture, helpless to have protected her like a father should.

_Baralai moves to retrieve Yuna, undaunted by Summoners and Guardians alike who stand up to defend their own. "Summon and I will spare no lives, including the child," he says, and torches their resistance to ash. Yuna lies there on the verge of unconsciousness as he hitches her legs over one arm and holds her torso on the other, leaving blood, debris, and bodies in his wake as the intercom continues to blare._

_"Ajanouha ihtan! Ajanouha ihtan!... Ajanouha ihtan!..."_

"...Are these... your true feelings... no, this is... self-loathing..."

Baralai looms over him, hand outstretched and glowing white. "Suffer."

* * *

For one minute Braska sits there, eyes closed and hand outstretched above Baralai's forehead in concentration. Everyone either watches with bated anticipation or kills time wandering, until a swirl of emerald gold pyreflies swarm to suck Braska's life force. Jecht and Auron spring up to pull him away, protecting what remains of his dim silhouette. Braska collapses, soul flickering to the violent pull of absorption, and everyone stares dumbfounded as Baralai's body begins to rise. Scarlet clouds of corrupt pyreflies surround his head, eyes blank white and tan skin turning green from the fingertips and growing.

"Father? Father?!" Yuna crouches by his side, bewildered.

"What's happening to him? He's glowing..." Paine braces herself, readying her sword.

"He's become overexposed to the pyreflies' influence," Auron says, "The possession may have proved too much for him to handle, especially given the extreme circumstances. We could stave the side effects with holy water, but the root of the problem still remains."

"You don't mean..." Rikku pales, hands flying to her mouth.

"What? _What?_" LeBlanc hisses, impatient. "What is it?"

Nooj takes up his gun and glares. "Zombification."


End file.
